Next was figuring out how to break off from the eggheads. I wasn't stressed about it since I always got my best "Ah-Ha!" moments at church. And, like clockwork, while Father McDoogal dished out heaps and helpings of fire and brimstone, I let my mind wander until one thought kept repeating: impersonate a chaperone.
Carrying on an adult conversation wouldn't be a problem. I've been holding my own with Aunty Meg's "sisters"—battle-axes from the American Legion Auxiliary—since, like, forever. But I had to look like a chaperone—like I had money but didn't spend it on clothes. Basically, I needed to look like Aunty Meg.
So, the night before the run, while Aunty Meg was out at her game night, I raided her closet, pulling items that no longer fit her. It's easier than it sounds since I do all our laundry and know her sizes. I slimmed down pickings for a three-day wash cycle and packed it all into this midnight-blue tote bag I found in the cellar.
And on "the morning of," I left home before sunrise as I had to catch their bus. I enjoyed the walk in solitude. Well, not really solitude, as all around me in the tall grass, Western Meadowlarks gossiped in 'pluks.' A couple of times, my worry engine kicked in—like how would I get home? I shushed the inner voices, choosing to enjoy what might be my last hours of freedom.
The bus driver who opened the door fit my prejudice to a tee—balding, over-fifty, retired guy with "Alan" blazing from his name badge. I cracked into him with lady sass, demanding to see his runsheet as them—insert-explicative—hadn't mailed mine yet. He fumbled awkwardly to pass over his notes. My eyes stayed on his paperwork for effect while I made him squirm with questions—how many total stops, what time to arrive at Lincoln—that sort of thing. After passing back his clipboard, I sat down behind him, feeling like I had passed the first test. Alan mopped up the sweat from his forehead, then put us on our way.
The bus collected what felt like twenty stops' worth of geeks. The first real chaperone didn't step on until Alliance. Each time I introduced myself, it was Janice with a hearing problem. I figured it would be easier to role-play with them yelling that name. Sad to admit, I got a bit punchy with confidence, thinking I could actually pull this off. That all changed when we stopped at Ogalla.
Delores was her name, and—my goodness—was she a piece of work. She pretty much barked like I would the moment she stepped on the bus—where was Petula, her regular, who was I, and all that. I waited for her to finish. Then, keeping eye contact and using as few words as possible, I offered up two choices. We could turn the bus around to pick up Petula, assuming she was still waiting—wherever! That would have Delores explaining to "The Program" our late arrival, probably after dark. Or, she could make do with the chaperones already there.
